Robotic Banana
by jane0904
Summary: Okay, so the title came first and the story after! Just a little fluff with Chuck, Sarah and Casey. Chuck has problems with a piece of fruit ... Enjoy, and if you like, please review.


"Who the hell bugs a banana?" Chuck complained. Or rather, what he _actually_ said was, "Oo a ell ugsh a anana?", since he was holding onto his tooth at the time.

"No-one eats them," Casey said, not particularly worried as he relaxed in the easy chair in Chuck's apartment. "It was a good place."

"_I_ ea eng!" (Translation – "_I_ eat them!")

"About once in a blue moon."

Chuck took his fingers out of his mouth and glared at the older man. "Have you been going through my trash again?"

"Sure."

"Is nothing sacred?"

"Nope."

"Chuck, let me see." Sarah had taken a small but powerful torch from her purse. "I'm sure it's nothing, but I need to check." She put her hand on his shoulder.

He turned his large, dark, soulful eyes on her, perversely enjoying the warmth of her fingers through his shirt even as his jaw ached. "I think it cracked a tooth."

She nodded sympathetically. "Sit down so I can take a look."

Chuck lowered himself onto the sofa, glaring at the offending fruit still lying on the table. "A banana," he muttered. "Who bugs a banana?" He shook his head in disbelief.

"Chuck, lean back."

He sighed but did as he was told, and Sarah knelt on the cushion next to him. She stretched over him, tipping his head towards her and holding his jaw open, shining the torch inside. For a moment he felt very vulnerable, sitting like that with Casey not a million miles away, then he realised just what he was facing. He refocused on soft, dewy skin framed by that little blue blouse, and just the edge of a white, frilly –

"Eyes front, soldier," Casey growled.

Chuck knew he'd gone a disturbing shade of puce.

Sarah just smiled and continued her investigation. "Well, I can't see anything," she said after a minute more. She resumed her seat.

Cradling his jaw, Chuck looked at her. "Are you sure? It feels like there's a big hole, right at the back."

"You might have chipped it, but that's all."

"You know, you could always see an agency dentist," Casey suggested, hitching his ankle up onto his other knee. "They're good. Be free, too."

"No way." Chuck held up both hands in a defensive posture. "I'd never know what they left behind."

"Suit yourself." Casey shrugged.

"What would they leave behind, Chuck?" Sarah asked, amused but interested.

"Don't you spies have poison pellets stuck in fake tooths?" He worked his chin from side to side. "It would be just my luck to be munching on a brazil nut and hear a crack, followed by St Peter welcoming me through the pearly gates."

Casey gave a grunt, one of his number eights, about as close to a laugh as the big man usually got.

"We don't do that any more," Sarah assured Chuck, glaring at Casey for a moment. "And it was only really in spy novels anyway."

"Speak for yourself," the NSA agent muttered, remembering one assignment in Afghanistan that he'd rather forget. He couldn't look at a pair of pliers without getting a flashback.

Chuck gazed into Sarah's baby blues. "Okay, maybe not poison, but he could put a … a tracker inside. My life wouldn't be my own."

Casey's eyes lit up at the possibility. "We'd know where you were, wouldn't we? And your life _isn't_ your own." He leaned forward. "It's mine."

"Anyway," Sarah said quickly before they could get into one of their heated disagreements over the true value of the Intersect that usually ended with Casey threatening their asset with severe physical harm. "Chuck, if you're really worried, why don't you make an appointment with your own dentist?"

"I … um … don't really like dentists." Chuck swallowed nervously. "I haven't actually been to one in a while."

"Fine." Casey reached for his cell phone. "One call and we can –"

"No!"

Sarah patted his arm, and the pain seemed to recede into a dull ache. "Okay, Chuck. Then I think the best remedy is to take two aspirin and an icepack." She got up and walked into the kitchen.

"Baby," Casey murmured, then his lips twitched at the look Chuck threw him.

"No more bugging fruit. Or any other comestible," the young man said firmly.

"Fine. I'll just stick to the other one hundred and fifteen listening devices I have secreted around this apartment." Casey smirked wider and stood up, stuffing the disabled transmitter into his pocket. "Now, I have to go and sell electrical goods to morons." He settled his shoulders in the green Buy More polo shirt, feeling more than a little pride at his ability to do just that, and then wondering whatever became of the hard-assed G-man assassin he used to be. Heading for the door, he turned the handle then paused. "Oh, and by the way … your trash?"

"What about it?" Chuck was still irritated at the whole invasion of privacy thing.

"You might wanna think about wrapping up those used Kleenex better." His mouth twisted in slight disgust. "Or get yourself a proper girlfriend." He chuckled and went out.

If anything Chuck turned even redder.

...

For weeks afterward Ellie wondered why Chuck had taken to examining every item of food before he ate it, but put it down to extreme paranoia over his on again/off again romance with Sarah. She was almost entirely right.


End file.
